Habit
by aptasi
Summary: Movieverse, post twitches II, Aron/Miranda, angst, one-shot that I decided to continue.
1. Mint Tea and Wedding Rings

Summary: Movieverse, post twitches II, Aron/Miranda, angst, one-shot.

Disclaimer: I do not own this. If I did, it would not be a kid's movie. This is not a kid's story. I have not read the books and do not intend to because I like messing with the movie characters. The books may well be better than the movies, but since it's the movies' faults and inaccuracies that inspire my subplots… being too correct would destroy my material.

**Habit**

The quiet stifles the room, dry, cold, and awkward. The room they had shared for little more than a year seems drafty and overlarge, although perhaps that comes as a result of his recent transformation.

Perhaps she notices the cold too, for her nightgown is heavier than he has come to expect, although after twenty-one years of separation he supposes he should not assume anything. The distance of half the room spanning between them seems too far away, and he searches for some excuse to close the distance.

"Do you still like tea?" He asks, gesturing to the set on the small table. "Mint?"

"Yes." She answers, favoring him with a smile.

He pours for both of them and watches her drink, conscious of the light reflecting from the wedding ring that declares them still married, reminding himself that she had agreed to that fact.

Oppressive silence drags. They sit together on the bed, and try not to look at each other.

"There's one thing I don't understand." He finally ventures. "Why concentrate magic to the royal family and remove it from everyone else. That's not how I remember you."

She stares at her empty cup. "It wasn't my idea. At the time…. Thantos was the de facto ruler and….I thought it would be safer not to argue with him."

She looks so lost that he feels he ought to apologize, though he's not sure for what. He abruptly shifts his weight to face her and gestures with his free hand… "Miranda I…"

To his shock, she starts and defensively throws a hand in front her face.

He waits a moment. "Miranda?"

"Sorry" she answers, forcing her hands to her knees, with visible effort, "Force of habit."

"He hit you?" He asks, at once horrified, furious, and compassionate.

She moves her head in a barely perceptible nod.

"Miranda," He whispers gently, leaning towards her, and slowly winding an arm around her shoulders. She doesn't move away, and he counts it as a good sign. "I'd die before I'd hurt you like that."

"I know." She replies. She rests her head lightly against his chest. He lightly rubs her tense back, and embraces her for a small eternity.

"I love you Miranda." He murmurs as he holds her.

She pulls back a little to look him in the face, "I love you Aron," she tells him. The fear didn't leave her eyes, though.


	2. The façade

Summary: Movieverse, post twitches II, Aron/Miranda, angst, continuation.

Disclaimer: I do not own this. If I did, it would not be a kid's movie. This is not a kid's story. I have not read the books and do not intend to because I like messing with the movie characters. The books may well be better than the movies, but since it's the movies' faults and inaccuracies that inspire my subplots… being too correct would destroy my material.

No the fear doesn't leave her eyes. Nor does she relax. Nor, Aron notes dourly, does she drop her mask. Her face is as calm, cool, and polished as marble floor of the room. She's controlled, exacting, and icy.

Had it not been for that one glitch, her hands jerking up to block a blow he never would have thrown, Aron might not even realize she had been hurt. It tortures him that his brother, who he had once loved, could do this to her.

Nevertheless, there is no chance he may now blame her stiffness on the inherent awkwardness of the evening. He cannot ignore as an irrelevant aberration in her serenity the terror that periodically crackles across her eyes like heat lighting.

She is strong, and she is determined, but he can see that she is defeated. The spirit and joy that had drawn him to her when they were so young are cracked and battered. Life destroys her, and she lacks the will to fight back. Aron can see this, and he wishes beyond hope that he can heal her.

It's getting late. His muscles and joints ache, unused to corporality, atrophied. "We should go to bed." He says mildly, "Else the sun will rise before we sleep."

Her answer is barely audible "Yes sir."

His face contorts in an incredulous frown which he quickly smoothes seeing her overwhelmed reaction. "It's been a long time, Miranda, but 'sir'?"

The sides of her lips curl up gently, "Yes love." She murmurs, and for a moment, the mask drops and he can see vulnerability and hope in her eyes.

Then the façade is back. Blast.

Miranda is the first to get into bed, choosing the side farthest from the door, against the wall. She had hemmed herself in, Aron realized. He almost suggests that she might feel safer on the side by the door, but he can't seem to word his thoughts.

She lies on her back and looks at the ceiling. He wonders why she stopped sleeping on her side. He wonders why she doesn't close her eyes. He wonders if he should extinguish the lights. Her hands, which sit neatly folded on her stomach, indicate that she waits for something.

He settles for dimming the lights, for he's not sure he can navigate in total darkness, within what's become an unfamiliar room.

When he leans over to wish her good night, he feels her shrink against the mattress, as a tremor runs through her body. She stares blankly at the ceiling, her eyes somehow simultaneously lifeless and panicked. "Please, be gentle with me." She whispers, as her hands clench at her sides.

Murderous rage at his brother surges through Aron. His chest constricts and the room spins. Breath comes faster and his eyes gleam.

Detecting his anger, Miranda flinches. Her hands start upward to shield her face, but she forces them back to back to her waist and grips the sheets.

He only wrests himself back to composure by reminding himself that his brother is already dead. He recalls earlier that night, after Miranda had demanded to see the body, the frigid fury with which she'd stared at his detestable relative, and he understands it.

He moves himself back so that she has space. "I'm not going to hurt you." He answers her resolututely. She turns her head to look at him

She doesn't relax. "I know you'll be kind." She answers him, the trust in her face contradicting the fear in her eyes.

"I'm not going to touch you." He clarifies, cursing his choice of words yet again.

Confusion clouds her faces, "You want to." She says and it's a simple statement of fact.

Perhaps he does, but the thought of doing it like this sickens him. He reviles himself for even feeling tempted.

"You don't want to." He rejoins.

"You're my husband." She answers flatly, "What I want doesn't matter."

"Of course it does." He answers indignantly. "I love you."

She hesitates for an instant before answering. "It's all right. You'll be better than what I'm used to. Go ahead." She smiles at him shyly. "It's the way the world is." She squeezes her eyes tight shut, and, though she looks marginally less terrified, her fortitude is still forced.

He shakes his head. "Whatever my brother's been telling you, this is **not** the way I am." He declares passionately. "I will not use some darkness-twisted sense of duty to force you to have sex with me. I'm not going to rape you."

Miranda only looks at him, doubtful. "It's not rape." She mumbles.

"Can you honestly tell me it doesn't feel like rape?" He asks her.

Eyes downcast, she shakes her head.

"Miranda," he says sincerely. "I love you. I've been thinking of you day and night and missing you for 21 years. It's because I love you that I need you to understand. I am not like Thantos. I do not get pleasure from injuring the most beautiful soul I've ever known."

"Alright," Miranda finally responds, "But if you ever change your mind, I won't think any less of you."

"And if you're ever willing, really willing I mean…" He finds himself saying. He trails off. "I'll go sleep in the antechamber."

"No!" she replies sharply. "I mean… Please stay with me."

"Are you sure you wouldn't feel more comfortable alone?" He asks benevolently.

She begins in a small voice "If I…" steely tones creep into her words, "When I wake up in the night with nightmares, and I'm sure I will wake up with nightmares, I'd rather the first thing I see be you, alive."

"Very well," he answers, settling himself against his pillow and dimming the lights a little more. "Good night Miranda."

"Good night Aron," she whispers, and, to his surprise, she moves onto her side and snuggles her head against his chest. He puts an arm around her, and she doesn't tense.

Sleep for both of them comes slowly but they do not speak again that night.


	3. Overdraw

Summary: Movieverse, post twitches II, Aron/Miranda, angst, continuation.

Disclaimer: I do not own this. If I did, it would not be a kid's movie. This is not a kid's story. I have not read the books and do not intend to because I like messing with the movie characters. The books may well be better than the movies, but since it is the movies' faults and inaccuracies that inspire my subplots… being too correct would destroy my material.

* * *

When he wakes, she has already risen. He attempts, vainly, from looking at her neatly made side of the bed, to recall those folded corners she used to have him do. However, his fingers fumble at the delicate task and he quickly gives up.

He wonders where Miranda is. It is early yet, with just the faintest tendrils of pink and orange haze threading their way over the horizon. From the intensity of their last day, both of them should have slept well past sunrise, whatever their usual tendencies. Yet here he is, awake, and she is already gone.

With increasing disquiet, Aron attempts a cursory search of the castle and the grounds, but with no idea of where to expect her, he has no success. Finally, he stops one of the servants, a young man he does not recognize, and asks, "Excuse me, have you seen Miranda?"

The servant jumps, dropping the tray he carries, and Aron mentally reminds himself not to walk behind people. Of course, it had been different as a shadow.

"Umm... Lord Aron! I mean, King Aron! I… I…" The fellow stutters eyes frenetically searching the corridor. "I… I haven't seen her sir."

Silently cursing Aron thanks him and turns to leave. Still unsettled, he paces the halls, somewhat slowed down by what seems to be crowds of staring individuals, confused by the unfamiliarity of the castle he used to know completely.

He cannot say why his feet take him to the parapets, but he imagines the walk up the stairs will be helpful to his legs. As he climbs higher, he feels the ache in his knees and joints again. Yet he keeps going, if only to get away from the masses of gawking humanity gaping at their ruler back from the dead.

Then he feels her presence. Miranda is sitting high on the rampart with her feet dangling over the side. Her hand rests on the castle wall and she leans upon it for support. Her brocade riding dress whips in the gusty air. She is looking outward, into the rising sun, which casts a reddish glow across her face.

Careful not to startle her, Aron approaches, "Since when do you have such a head for heights?" He ventures gingerly, a bit uncertain himself of the indeterminate drop.

"You can see everything from here." She remarks, taking hold of his sleeve and pulling him closer. She gestures with her left hand, "The towers, all of the gates, the courtyard, the gardens, even the path up here. No one can ambush you. Few follow you. Besides, you have the high ground. It is defensible."

"Defensible with a thousand foot fall behind you." He specifies with some trepidation, wondering why he did not notice how the height of these walls as a younger man, when he last had the leisure to observe them.

"You have options." Her answer is detached.

"Miranda, come away from there." Aron says, a little too hurriedly.

"Gladly," She answers, swinging her legs around and stepping back onto reliable stone. "I don't know what I was doing up here anyway, except that I always come here at daybreak. Since you died... I mean almost died…it feels… it felt safe." She smiles and loops her arm through his. "Have you eaten yet? If we're late there'll be nothing left."

They descend the stairs together. At the base, she moves her arm and tightly clasps his hand instead, interlocking her fingers with his. It feels…

* * *

Too hot.

"Miranda," Aron questions, "Are you feverish?"

"I overdrew last night," She answers aloofly. It is to be expected." Casually, she keeps walking.

He puts a hand on her forehead, for once careless of the accompanying flinch. Her brow is scorching. "Darkness," He swore, "You're burning up."

"It's normal." She answers patiently, pushing his hand back a little.

"You!" He roars across the garden to a liveried figure, "Call a healer. Now!"

As Aron leads her to sit on the bench Miranda insists, "I'm fine." But her rickety steps belie her firm tone.

"I've seen overdraw fevers, love, and this is too high." He says, trying to comfort her as he realizes his own hand is shaking.

"I can't show them any…" She groans as her eyes close and she slumps against him. "Any weakness."

"It's okay." He whispers, cradling her head. "I've got you… Where is that healer? Healer!"

Aron knows that he shouldn't be surprised by the overdraw fever, especially after seeing the amount the magic Miranda handled last night, after knowing how tired she must have been to begin. He hates how easily he was blindsided by this mess. And he is aghast at the thought of losing her.

Aron feels his heart rip. This will hurt her, and he will have to watch it. The memory of her has been his identity for over 21 years. Abandoning her is unthinkable. As she clings to his chest and shivers, it kills him. And there is nothing he can do.

Just as there had been nothing he could do about Bloody Wednesday, the name people here took to calling his supposed death day.

Just as there had been nothing he could do about his brother devastating his kingdom while he lived as a shadow.

Just as there had been nothing Aron could do to prevent Thantos marrying Miranda, nothing to prevent him from doing any detestable thing he could think of to her.

Just as there had been nothing he could do to so much as see her face for 21 years.

So any small part of Aron that might counsel caution or tell him that creating a scene would improve nothing and likely show just the weakness Miranda tries so hard to hide is quelled.

And he desperately screams for help.

As if it will undo the past.

As if it will heal Miranda's soul.

As if it will heal his soul.

As if someone with more power than him can hear.

"Healer!"

The sun glares in his eyes, reflecting off his tears.

"Healer!"

"**Healer**!"


	4. That Kind of Question

Summary: Movieverse, post twitches II, Aron/Miranda, angst, continuation.

Disclaimer: I do not own this. If I did, it would not be a kid's movie. This is not a kid's story. I have not read the books and do not intend to because I like messing with the movie characters. The books may well be better than the movies, but since it is the movies' faults and inaccuracies that inspire my subplots… being too correct would destroy my material.

The healer who arrives does not look overmuch concerned. At least, her slow gait betrays no hurry. As she saunters over to them, she twists her hair, black streaked with gray, into a tight braid, pulling it back out of the way. Then, she crosses her arms in front of her.

Ignoring Aron completely, she addresses Miranda "You're early with the overdraw complaint. I was expecting you to call me aside during breakfast, or, more to the point, I was expecting to have to accost you in the halls when you did not. Shall I assume that this alarm means you are dying, or did your esteemed husband overreact?"

Miranda lifts her head a little and recites, "Classic overdraw: lightheaded, fever, chills. I don't think I've overextended quite this badly before."

The Healer steps forward and places a testing hand on Miranda's forehead. "Well, your husband may be naïve but he's not daft. Fever is far too bloody high. Don't think you're walking through this one."

"As always, Este, I don't have a choice." Miranda replies firmly.

"Look around, Honey. For once you actually do. This may be the first time in two and a half decades that Coventry will genuinely survive you taking a sick day." The Healer, Este, answers, tapping her fingers impatiently against her hip. Then, sharply glancing over her shoulder, she snapped "What?"

The young woman in red and gray takes a hesitant step back. "I'm sorry, Senior Healer Este; I was told there was trouble here." Aron recalls that junior healers wear those colors.

"I have everything well in hand, girl." Este snaps, "But since you're already here, have some cool cloths sent up to her" she jabs a finger in Miranda's direction, "room."

As the younger woman scampered off, Este turns her attention to Aron, "Well, make up your mind." She told him. "Are you carrying her, or had she better get walking?"

Aron gently lifts Miranda, trying to ignore the fresh pain it ignites in his arms and back.

"How romantic" Observes Este sardonically.

* * *

Only when Miranda is safely in their rooms, lying on the bed, and presumably sleeping does Aron turn his attention to the two healers. Drawing them with him to the corner of the room, he makes the inquiry that has been plaguing him since he first noticed her fevered state. "Will she be alright?"

"I'm not sure." Este replies flatly, "Her fever's a few degrees above normal overdraw, even for her. There is nothing I can do except pray it breaks. She has a good chance."

"A good chance" he repeats, feeling his hands shaking at his sides.

"Either way she's in for a miserable few days" Este's tone was completely clinical. "She'll probably be delirious for some of it, which might be some small mercy depending on what she imagines, or a great deal worse."

The other healer looked at her feet and avoided his eyes all together, fidgeting with her red and gray uniform.

"Either way keep the cool clothes on her forehead, that'll maybe feel a little better. Do not let her injure herself if she thrashes around."

"You…" he stammers "You must know something… some way to help her."

"I don't. But when you find this miraculous thing do let me know."

"Why do you hate her so much?" He is not sure where the question comes from, and he wishes he had not said it, but somehow it seems appropriate.

"I don't hate her. I respect her." Este appraised him, face tight, "You on the other hand I could do without right now."

He tries not to tower over her, but being about a foot taller, that is difficult, "Why?" He asks calmly, rather relieved that it is him and not Miranda whom Este is angry at.

"I think it's easy to take some arrogant, self-righteous position when you come back to find your kingdom whole, your heirs grown, and your wife hopelessly and blindly in love with you. What did you ever do to get through this so easy?"

"Easy" He answers, indigent, "You think this has been…."

"Oh, spare us. Your wife has been through some truly terrible things, and she complains a good deal less than you do. If you had been with us the past 21 years, you would know how to do what you need to survive. Like we did. So do not judge us. Grow up, Sir."

With that parting shot, Este strode boldly from the room.

* * *

To his surprise, the junior healer does not immediately exit. She carefully spells a basin of water to remain cold and dips a cloth into the icy liquid, drawing it a few times around sleeping Miranda's forehead.

With the air of one who knows the room, the healer locates a linen closet and carries out a few heavy blankets. Most she simply folds at the foot of the bed, but one she tenderly tucks around Miranda, over the other, thinner, blankets she already wears. Without saying a word, she straightens the room.

When, after casting one last glance around, the healer turns to go, Aron stops her quietly. "What's your name?"

"Adelais, sir." She answers, not looking him in the face.

"Adelais," He says benevolently, "What should I do to keep Miranda comfortable?"

The younger woman bows, considering, and answers, "Keep that ice water on her forehead whenever you're awake. And when she is awake make sure she drinks a lot of water. More than you think she needs. Do not… do not frighten her. And make sure the government runs well in her absence or she may strangle you when she gets better."

The healer smiles at the last sentence, perhaps hoping he will take it as a joke. However, he can still read hesitation in her demeanor and in her continued interest in the floor.

"What aren't you telling me Adelais?" He asks doggedly.

The woman does not look up. "Senior Healer Este was telling the truth. There truly is nothing else to do. Overdraw fevers are nigh impossible to get down. Only… Forgive me Sir… How much do you love your wife?"

He takes a step towards her in anger "What kind of a question is that?"

She look up at him now and her gaze is stern, "Please, just tell me."

He spits the words out, "I wish with all my soul that I had been tortured in her place. I love her with everything I have and I would die in a heartbeat if I thought it would help her."

"And will you love her in a month… a year."

"I will love her until I am a rotting corpse." His teeth grind.

She bites her lip for a second and nods, "Remember that then. Because I suspect that if you ever abandon her after making her finally feel safe, you will kill her outright. So, if you're going to start this, caring for her I mean, you'd better never stop."

Slowly, he assents. "One more thing," he says as Adelais turns to leave. "I don't want to get you in trouble with Este, but could you… please… check on Miranda an occasionally?"

"I'll do better than that." She answers quickly, "I'll come every four hours with fresh food, water, and cloths. Including the night, and if her condition changes at all and it worries you, send a messenger and I'll come, no matter where I am."

"That seems like too much of a burden on you…" He says appreciating it but knowing the likely fallout from Este, not to mention the loss of time and sleep, he would be imposing on the novice healer.

"Nonsense" Adelais answers with conviction "I'd do quite a lot to aid Queen Miranda. And many in this castle feel the same."

"How did she earn your loyalty?" Aron asks, curious and a bit apprehensive, remembering that, during his particularly short tenure, neither of then had gained that degree of popularity.

"About ten years ago," Adelais answers, "The darkness overran the town. Before the attack, Lady Miranda moved all of the townsfolk inside the castle walls. I was just beginning my healer training at the time. She set up a hospital in the grand ballroom, for any that were hurt, and was down with us, helping to work out the setup when… when Lord Thantos joined her

Adelais' hands are tightly clasped in front of her, and she looks heartbroken. "Apparently he had forbid her let the townsfolk in on some particularity. They were arguing, at least he was shouting at her, for some time. Then she shouted back 'It's legal. It's done, and I'm not undoing it.'"

The healer's voice grows flinty, "So he just backhanded her across the face like it's nothing… Then pushed her up against a wall and then hit her a few more times for good measure. It was … horrible… to watch. He had a real strong arm and… None of us ever dared to do anything… I do not think he was anywhere near done, but he remembered that we were watching and stepped back."

Admiration permeated her voice "When he let her up, she just stared back at him until she got her breath back and steadily said. 'I will not rescind the orders.' Even after that. "

Aron can tell it is a battle for Adelais to tell the story and he only nods, although he feels torn between wonder at his wife's integrity and cold fury at his brother's cruelty.

"Then he left," she continues "But first he said to her, cold as ice 'I'll see you tonight your majesty,' smirking and leering, and bowed to her no less. And she just inclined her head like it was the most natural thing in the world."

"After that" Adelais finishes, "She got up and took a handkerchief out of her pocket and wiped her face. She starting talking about herbs and bandages, calmly, like nothing even happened. We all knew she would have all darkness to pay that night for displeasing him, and she never even faltered."

Adelais raises her eyes once more, "My father and my sister were living in the town. So you see, sir, it's no trouble for me to bring Lady Miranda some blankets and broth."

Aron, not sure of how to react, keeps his face still and waves his hand, "Dismissed for now then," as Adelais bowed out of the room.


	5. Chicken Salad

Summary: Movieverse, post twitches II, Aron/Miranda, angst, continuation.

Disclaimer: I do not own this. If I did, it would not be a kid's movie. This is not a kid's story. I have not read the books and do not intend to because I like messing with the movie characters. The books may well be better than the movies, but since it is the movies' faults and inaccuracies that inspire my subplots… being too correct would destroy my material.

* * *

The day passes in a sort of desolate crawl. He sits, tracing her forehead time after time with the icy cloth, muttering comforting nonsense under his breath. It does not do any good. Each time he reaches out with his hand and touches her skin, it seems hotter than before.

She does not wake. Every now and again she murmurs something in her sleep, never clearly enough for him to understand. Other times she cries silently, leaving heated tear trails below her eyes. The rest of the time, she is perfectly still.

There is a certain peace to this semi-solitude, so similar to the watching over his daughters from the shadows. Having grown accustomed, in that way, to such vigils, Aron feels no boredom, no need to find something to occupy his mind.

He marks the time by the periodic mouse-like intrusion of Adelais and other healers, bringing clean cloths, which he changes for the soaking ones in his hands. The food he leaves untouched. He dares not wake her for fear of making her more conscious of her pain, and the nourishment holds no interest for him anyway. In an hour, he tells himself, he will wake her so they can both eat.

However, the time goes by indeterminately, as the world somehow distills to the tiny beads of water that his motions leave on Miranda's forehead.

"Sir?" He hears the voice as if it comes from far away, "Sir?' As he vaguely tries to move his mind back to reality, he feels a harsh hand grab his wrist and pry open his fingers, removing the cloth. "King Aron?" The voice is louder now."

Someone lightly slaps his face "Come on Sir!"

He blinks and starts seeing Adelais, looking completely exasperated.

"Sorry," he mutters, dropping his hand.

"When's the last time you had something to eat?" She asks, a little too gently.

"Technically," he answers, "21 years and some days ago."

"I was afraid of that," she replies dourly, shaking her head and pushing a silver tray toward onto the bedside table. "Take that into the antechamber. You are not to come back until you have finished everything on it. Chew your food. I'll tend her in the interim."

"You're starting to sound like Este." He says, trying to summon up a smile.

* * *

As he sits, trying unsuccessfully to get through what seems to be a chicken salad sandwich and assorted side dishes, all he wants to do is to run back into the room and check on Miranda.

Therefore, he is not really paying attention to Este as she walks up the halls to him, carrying a bound book under her arm and looking positively murderous.

He looks up though when Adelais inconveniently comes out of the door, starts at Este's presence, and drops into a low curtsey. "I can explain." She mutters to her foot.

"Explain what?" Asks Este cruelly, "You're young and idiotic. I do not care what you do on your own blasted time. Nevertheless, it is my turn. You're dismissed."

As Adelais curtsies and leaves, Este turns to enter the room. Aron makes to follow her, but she cuts him off with a sharp gesture, "Let it alone."

"Have you found some way to help her?" Aron questions.

"No." Este answers sharply. "But I need to document her injuries."

"Why?" Aron asks puzzled.

"I know you've been a little preoccupied sir." Este deadpans, "But you killed your brother last night. There will be an inquiry. What he did to her is relevant. Not everything has healed yet, and that which has may have left traces I can get by delving."

Este shakes her head in agitation, "There is no record from during her marriage, because that brute Thantos would not let a soul near her least of all a healer. I have seen her precious few times between and always with another problem to be dealt with first." She sort of growls out the words." So help me, when the court asks for them, my books will be in order."

"Alright," he answers diminutively "Please don't hurt her."

Este shakes her head and bits her lip ever so slightly, "I can't promise you that."

* * *

It is not long, indeed far less time than he expected, when Este exits again.

She looks at Aron for a moment and, though her eyes are not gleaming with her usual brusque anger, they are not exactly soft either.

"She asked for you." The healer tells him. "I inquired if she wanted to have anyone with her. One of her maids maybe, I suggested, or Ileana, since I heard they were friendly 21 years ago. It is not as if she has been allowed to make any friends since. She refused, said she'd be fine on her own."

The anger is definitely back now, "She would have been better off doing it alone, getting through what she has to the way she always does, but she changed her mind. Asked me, meek as can be, whether I thought it would be any trouble if she asked for you."

Este's voice quiets a little, though loosing none of its intensity "So go to your wife, sir."

* * *

He sits on the small chair next to the bed and takes her hand in his, clasping it firmly.

Este removes and folds the blankets. With more gentleness than Aron knew she possessed, the healer adjusts the pillows to allow Miranda to sit up slightly.

"I'm going to have to undo your dressing gown for this, Miranda," Este tells her, with a significant glance at him.

"Aron is the father of my daughters and I love him." Miranda answers. "I'm not afraid of his eyes."

Nonetheless, he keeps those eyes on her face as Este begins her work. As the healer moves cloth, touched skin, and writes down entries in the accursed book, he tries to keep his focus on the lovely blue-grey of her eyes, fearing that if he sees any injury on her it will emblaze itself forever in his mind. He does not need to know what is being seen and done, only how it affects his love.

Miranda's face is dispassionate and calm, whatever Este is doing. The only hint at her vulnerability comes through her hand, which comes near to crushing his. It seems to go on forever, and unsure of what to do, he quietly strokes the back of her hand with his thumb.

"Brace yourself," He hears the healer instruct, and a moment later his wife pulls his hand closer and, turning her head towards him, whispers a barely audible whimper.

Another eternity of time. "Aron?" She whispers.

"Right here love," he answers her, "right here. I'm not going anywhere."

When Este finally draws a blanket back around Miranda's shoulder and closes that infernal book, Aron feels near his breaking point.

"That's done." Este says in a hoarse voice. She gestures out the window at the setting sun, "If you need someone during the night, call that fool Adelais."

"Going to get some sleep?" he asks, trying to keep the irate bitterness from his tone.

"Sir, I can dissociate almost anything, but this is out of my depth. I am going to get very drunk. Excuse me."

She brushes past him out of the room, and he sits down to keep his vigil again.


	6. Monte Cristo

Summary: Movieverse, post twitches II, Aron/Miranda, angst, continuation.

Disclaimer: I do not own this. If I did, it would not be a kid's movie. This is not a kid's story. I have not read the books and do not intend to because I like messing with the movie characters. The books may well be better than the movies, but since it is the movies' faults and inaccuracies that inspire my subplots… being too correct would destroy my material.

He must have fallen asleep, because he opens his eyes to find her awake. The air is cold with a clear deepness that only comes when the rest of the world is long asleep. She is breathing quickly, if not quite too quickly, and the corners of her eyes are tense.

"Hi," He ventures, "How are you doing?"

"Aron?" She asks in a voice just shy of breaking.

"Yes, Miranda, right here."

Her mouth contorts and she jerks her head. "You're dead!"

"No love. I'm alive, remember?"

Her chest rises and falls sporadically "You're dead! Oh darkness, he will be here soon. I have to compose myself. You're dead!"

"Thantos isn't coming love, he died. He fell off the North Tower. He will never hurt you anymore." Oh light, he thinks frenetically, she does not know where she is.

"You're dead!" she shouts back half hysterical "And you've got some nerve telling me who is and isn't alive."

"Ah love, can't you see I'm alive? It's me."

Her face grows suspicious, "If it's really you, then what is the watchword?"

"Coram populo," He whispers to her.

"In the presence of the people…" She murmured. "You're right."

"Yes Miranda," He answers gently "I've remembered the watchword from the night I saw you last for 21 years."

"How hard is it really?" She asks angrily. "Two Latin words! I spent hour after hour scrying desperately, hoping, and praying. I would have risked anything to bring you back if you had sent me so much as a stick figure man, anything like the sign we agreed on. I thought we were so clever, with passwords like children playing at castles and dragons, and all it did was kill my hope every time I saw a sign that couldn't have been you."

"I know, Miranda. You have no idea how much I wanted to give you a sign."

Her eyes dart back and forth, frantic, "Thantos will be here soon. He will hurt me, Aron."

"He'll never touch you again, Miranda. He's dead and buried." Aron wills her to believe him.

She whispers, "If I make him angry, Thantos won't support us. And if he doesn't fight we'll be overwhelmed."

"He's dead Miranda, and I'm alive."

She thinks for a moment, "If that's true, I am surely dreaming." She closes her eyes and her voice gets softer. "Please light, don't let me ever wake."

She seems to drift back into sleep, and Aron lets her, dipping the cloth into the icy bath yet again and beginning his cooling cycle. The ice is no match for her fiery brow.

* * *

The next time she wakes hysterical, thrashing and crying. He curses and tries to hold her still, knowing full well that anything he does is worse than useless in the face of this fevered delusion. Even from the grave, his brother is still torturing his wife.

"Let me go!" She screams and it hits him in the heart.

She stops fighting and lies there sobbing. "Please don't." She whimpers, as she twists convulsively.

He takes his hands off her, fearing that he is only feeding her delirium.

There has to be some way….

Any way…

Without touching her…

To let her know it is just him…

To calm her…

Desperate, he searches the room for any hint of a solution, however futile, and his eyes light upon a bookshelf in the corner of the room. Randomly running to it, he seizes the first book he sees.

The book has an old leather mark in it from light only knows when. He spells light onto the pages.

"There is neither happiness nor misery in the world," He reads slowly and clearly. The words seem ridiculous considering his present situation, but he can think of nothing but this to attempt.

"Only the comparison of one state with another." It seems to him that Miranda's sobs are slowing.

"He who has felt the deepest grief," he continues, sure now that she is calming.

"Is best able to experience supreme happiness." He finishes, as her sobs trail off and she watches him with confusion.

Wondering what light-sent, if idiotic, work he had chanced upon, he glances at the cover _The Count of Monte Cristo_.

Even in the brief time he takes to make this observation, however, he can see Miranda straying back towards mad panic. Therefore, blindly, he flips toward the beginning of the book and continues reading.

It seems to him unfortunate and ill conceived his choice of book. The whole thing is almost too ironic.

The protagonist, like Aron, has been betrayed by his friends, sent to imprisonment for decades for a crime he had not committed.

Aron, as he continues to read, feels a strange empathy for this fictional character, locked away and forgotten in a cell, with no knowledge of his family or friends.

His heavy voice grows dark when he reads of what the Count finds upon his escape from prison. His beloved father, dead. His fiancée, believing him dead, married to his betrayer. His friends, scattered and poor. His enemies, rich and exalted.

He begins to question the wisdom of choosing this text, as he reads of the Count's choice to take revenge on his enemies. However, every moment he stops, even if Miranda appears asleep, she begins to twist and cry in anguish again. He dares not choose another book when these frail pieces of parchment are protecting her from Thantos, however metaphorically.

Aron loses all empathy for the Count, as he reads of his revenge, and its decimating effects on his once fiancée. Once convinced of the justice of the Count's cause, Aron now feels nothing but contempt for the fictional man

Nevertheless, Aron has no choice but to keep reading.

So, he reads.

Through the night.

Through the next day.

While Adelais and others pass through like shadows.

Into the night again.

Until the first signs of morning appear.

Until the sun rises.

As he realizes he is on the last chapter of the book, Aron feels hopeless and terrified, bereft of the only thing that seems to be helping.

As he finishes and lays down the book, he feels despair in his heart, and reaches out his hand to gently smooth Miranda's hair.

Then he realizes her skin in cool.

"The fever," he whispers hardly daring to believe, "It's broken."

His whisper swells to a jubilant shout, bringing Adelais and Este at a run "The fever's broken!"

The next few moments are an insane whirlwind of healers, but it settles down surprisingly quickly. Aron is still left alone, standing over his wife, still half-laughing from relief.

Throughout the entire series of healers, Miranda has not opened her eyes. Now she does, and looks at him impassively.

"He was too merciful to her." She says casually.

"Who?" He queries, confused.

"The Count" She clarifies darkly "He was too kind to Mercedes."

"What?" Aron feels confused, recalling that the Count had emotionally destroyed his ex-fiancée, which did not come near to constituting kindness.

"He should have killed her. She deserved to die." Miranda tells the ceiling.

"No, he says passionately. "She thought he was dead. There was no way she could have known. He should not have harmed her at all."

Miranda turns onto her side and looks at him sternly. The slight twist to her mouth indicates that she has not missed his metaphor. "That's no excuse. He should have killed her." She states with emphasis.

The joy drains from Aron, and he feels a chill run through him, as he meets Miranda's merciless eyes.


	7. Idealism

Summary: Movieverse, post twitches II, Aron/Miranda, angst, continuation.

Disclaimer: I do not own this. If I did, it would not be a kid's movie. This is not a kid's story. I have not read the books and do not intend to because I like messing with the movie characters. The books may well be better than the movies, but since it is the movies' faults and inaccuracies that inspire my subplots… being too correct would destroy my material.

--

--

Aron is trapped, with cold wet stone pressing into his back and Thanto's face before him.

"Nice evening, brother," Thantos tells him hatefully, spraying him with a burst of destructive power, "Isn't it? Beautiful eclipse."

A ring of light passes the edge of the moon, torturing him. He groans.

"Do you miss Miranda, brother?" Thantos presses on sardonically, throwing another power shot at Aron, tossing him up a few more steps towards the top of the north tower. "She missed you."

Another blast of power and he reaches the top of his stairs. Aron's heart races and he feels himself start to panic. Behind him is a sheer drop.

"She's mine now," Thantos finishes, "Goodbye brother."

Aron falls

And screams

Then wakes.

* * *

Miranda bends over him, her hands on his shoulders, shaking him. Sweat stands out on her forehead. It is night again, and somehow he has found a way into bed.

"What? What happened?" He gasps.

"You were dreaming." She answers.

"Light!" He shudders and compulsively draws her to his chest in a rough hug. "Miranda!" She slumps against him, and he crushes her in his arms, trying to drown out his fear with contact.

Suddenly realizing how abrupt and physical he has been, Aron loosens his grip. "I'm sorry," he mutters.

"That's alright," Miranda answers softly, and she returns his embrace with some force.

For a moment, he grips back desperately. Then, he lets her go again. "Thank you."

"Thantos can't hurt you anymore either." Miranda says gently, resting on her side next to him and running a comforting hand down his arm.

"It was you he hurt." Aron answers, confused.

"In a way," she explains conversationally, "You were worse off than I was. I was sure you were dead, so I never had to fear for you. When everything became unbearable, I would imagine you contented in the afterlife, waiting for me, and the girls growing up in some far away dimension, safely away from our war."

"I knew the girls were safe," He says clumsily, finding his voice awkward after hearing her musical one, "But I couldn't help them. When Alex lost her adopted mother, I wanted to comfort her and could not. When Cameron drew you, I was relieved in a way because I knew you were alive. Yet, in 21 years, I never saw a sketch of you smiling or laughing, but there were more of you crying than I could count. Cam is such an upbeat girl; I knew she'd never have drawn Coventry so dark or you so sad if it weren't true."

Miranda touches one of his hands gently.

He continues. "I prayed that someday you'd drive the darkness back and forget about me so I could see you happy again."

"Most nights," She answers tenderly, "remembering you was the only thing keeping me sane."

He notices that Miranda is fully dressed, "Were you still awake?" He queries, "It's the middle of the night."

"I need to read these for tomorrow," She explains, indicating a stack of papers on a nearby table. "They're briefs regarding the inquiry into Thantos's death and reports from the rebuilding efforts in the outer provinces."

He feels a bit ashamed of himself for not thinking of this earlier. Of course, there would be paperwork for them to read. It is not as if he has not ruled this land before. It has been a while, but still…

He gestures and light engulfs the room.

"Don't you want to sleep?" Miranda inquires.

"I should be helping you with this." He answers decisively.

Nodding, she takes the documents from the table and two heavy books from their shelf. Vaulting lightly over him to her side of the bed, she hands him a book and half the pile of papers. She rests the papers on the book and leans on her knees, summoning a quill.

"I'll mark these for you and draw your attention to anything out of the ordinary. Do the same with yours. With luck we can finish these in about two hours."

It quickly becomes apparent to Aron that Miranda may have overestimated his capabilities. At least, her pen is flying over the pages and she is turning the papers at an alarming rate. He, conversely, recognizes almost nothing in the reports, and finds himself asking questions five or six times a page, unfortunately for his efficiency.

"Who is Altera Ziya?" He wonders, frowning at the unfamiliar name on the page.

"A political rebel from South," Miranda responds without slowing down. "She was very outspoken against Thantos until the darkness took her about a year ago. Her former followers have been keeping hidden for the most part."

"Are they angry with you in particular or was it just Thantos?"

"I'm not sure they've decided yet. Their particular problem was with his emergency powers acts and his suspension of the courts. I've been working on reinstating everything as fast as I can, but I can hardly expect them to assign me no culpability when my own daughter thinks I'm guilty."

"Alex didn't know the situation." Aron says, seeking to assuage Miranda's feelings.

"I'm glad she's an idealist. It shows character. Alex was right to be angry with me."

"No Miranda. She was afraid and her fear made her cruel." Aron wishes he knew what to say, as every word from his mouth seems to make this worse.

"She had good reason." That pen of hers still has not slowed down.

"Miranda…" She does not even look up.

"I could have killed you..." The pen still scratches away

"Miranda…" If anything, she is writing faster.

"Because I didn't have the courage to face him again…" Oh, for light's sake, he thinks.

"Miranda!" In frustration, he seizes the quill from her, and she flinches and shrinks away from him.

For a moment, the only sound in the room is their fast breathing. Miranda stares at him with wide eyes, her mouth pressed into a thin line.

"The vanquishing spell was the right decision and the one I would have chosen." Aron says with quiet intensity. "So, stop berating yourself over it. You did a blasted good job in a position that would have defeated most people."

Miranda does not break eye contact, but he thinks he sees tears in her eyes.

"You are not a coward, tyrant, or weakling. By light, if anyone outside our family said the things you've been saying about yourself, I'd probably end up fighting a duel!"

She throws her head back and her chest spasms. Aron notices tear tracks on her eyes.

"Are you laughing or crying?" He asks, hesitantly placing a hand or her shoulder. .

"Both!" She answers hysterically, embracing him tightly. He holds her as she shakes with sorrow and mirth. "You're going to have to fight a lot of duels!" She sobs and laughs.

Maybe a hand of time later, she sits back up and wipes her eyes. "Light that felt good," she mutters to herself.

She picks up the papers again. "Back to work."

--

--

Author's note: Ileana and Karsh will appear in the next chapter.


	8. Laces

Summary: Movieverse, post twitches II, Aron/Miranda, angst, continuation.

Disclaimer: I do not own this. If I did, it would not be a kid's movie. This is not a kid's story. I have not read the books and do not intend to because I like messing with the movie characters. The books may well be better than the movies, but since it is the movies' faults and inaccuracies that inspire my subplots… being too correct would destroy my material.

* * *

The room is still dark when he hears and feels her rise. The soft rustle of cloth as she moves across the room is the only sound.

"What time is it?" Aron asks, disorientated. The cold of the impending winter has permeated their chambers, and the safe and warm bed seems to him more attractive than the uncertain chill of open space.

"About an hour before daybreak," Miranda answers, sounding calm and pragmatic. "We need to be at the inquiry when the sun rises." She gestures and a light appears, though the room is still full of the raw chill of autumn.

She pulls her nightgown over her head, and despite her brisk manner, Aron's mouth goes dry. He does not intend any disrespect, but he cannot seem to stop from staring at her. Light, he thinks, but she is still beautiful, even after so many years and trials.

Before he can react further, she steps into a formal dress and pulls her arms through the sleeves.

Somehow, she has already done her hair; at least it looks wonderful and silky to him. He wonders if she charmed it that way or if his mind is just making unusual leaps. Self-consciously he runs a hand through his own messy blond locks.

Her fingers worry at the fabric of the gown, made of particularly majestic red and gold velvet, trying to lace up the intricate ribbon that tied the back of the gown.

He gives himself a shake and finds his voice. "Let me help you with that." He manages, stepping behind her, and wondering if he has gone daft.

She immediately drops her hands to her sides and mutely stands still, passively, rather to his discomfort.

True Aron is not entirely sure how to do this. Intricate dresses are not something he has any recent or even long past, experience regarding. There are several different colors and textures of ribbon involved, and he is not quite sure of the pattern. Neither his inconveniently shaking hands nor his all-too-awareness of Miranda's body improves the situation.

He should be able to focus better than this. Really, he should. It is just that Miranda looks so lovely, and he has not seen this much of her skin in over 21 years and he is only human and…

Without his conscious approval, his hands run down her soft back. The slight tensing of her muscles would be indiscernible to him, were he not so afraid of it. Feeling her near invisible flinch, he withdraws as if burnt, cursing his insensitively.

"Did I hurt you?" He says gently, knowing and fearing the answer.

"No." She answers in a monotone, softly and untruthfully.

"Don't lie to me Miranda," Aron says sadly, resuming his work with the laces carefully, desperate not to harm her again.

"You barely touched me," She answers in a soothing placating tone.

"Then why did it hurt?" He asks firmly and his voice speeds up as he tries hastily to explain himself. "I didn't think you'd still be bruised, it's been…"

"It's nothing!" Miranda cuts in harshly, sharply, cringing at her own volume. She looks a little to the side and clenches her jaw. "He just broke a couple of ribs that's all."

"Oh good you're ready!" Ileana says cheerily as she enters without knocking. Miranda, turning her head with a perfectly charming façade, says nothing more of her injury.

"Ileana!" Karsh shouts as he too walks through the door. "You can not just barge in like that." Aron rather agrees with his servant, but through supreme force of effort holds his tongue.

"But…" Ileana protests, pouting.

"It takes finesse…" Karsh supplies in exasperation, "And regard and etiquette and…

"Oh, that reminds me," Ileana adds in a brash and exasperating voice, stepping in front of Aron, "I should be doing that."

She starts lacing up Miranda's back, distractedly and none too gently. Aron winces, especially when Ileana pulls the laces tight with a convincing yank.

As for Miranda, why you might think she was at a ball for all the discomfort her face shows. In a way, Aron envies her that fortitude, even as he wishes he could disregard all etiquette and take over for Ileana. Where are Miranda's usual lady's maids anyway?

But then, he needs to dress too, or they will both be late, and he finds himself forced to disregard that line of questioning temporarily. He cannot question Miranda about her injuries in front of Ileana and Karsh. So, though he feels immensely worried about his wife, Aron sets about the more mundane process of locating a clean shirt.

* * *

As they walk to the Hall of Justice, Ileana, and Karsh half-walk half-run ahead, arguing about what Aron surmises is whether they are going to be late. And something concerning licorice? Aron really does not care. He reminds himself to find out the date for the pair's wedding, as somehow he has forgotten.

However, as always, his main concern is Miranda. He leans a little bit towards her and says in a low tone, "You have broken ribs?"

"It's nothing. They're most of the way healed." She responds in the same low register. Her walk is steady, dignified, and regal.

Before he can answer that, Ileana and Karsh rush back to talk to them, over each other, gesticulating wildly.

"Now you have to understand the format of the inquiry…" Karsh begins talking, Aron thinks, to him, although it is difficult to be certain.

"Just relax… breath." Ileana adds, taking a somewhat erratic deep breath or two to demonstrate.

"It's very important that you…." Karsh says to Miranda

"Concentrate… focus." Ileana gestures with her hands.

"There are representatives from most of the provinces, and they…" Karsh says with emphasis.

"Just answer everything. You have to answer everything. "Miranda just inclines her head graciously at the blond woman's imperative.

"This is very serious and…" Karsh interjects

"Oh just have fun!"

Then the intimidating mahogany doors of the Hall of Justice swing open and the inquiry begins.


	9. Thinking About It

Summary: Movieverse, post twitches II, Aron/Miranda, angst, continuation.

Disclaimer: I do not own this. If I did, it would not be a kid's movie. This is not a kid's story. I have not read the books and do not intend to because I like messing with the movie characters. The books may well be better than the movies, but since it is the movies' faults and inaccuracies that inspire my subplots… being too correct would destroy my material.

* * *

Aron taps his foot impatiently, as he tries to resist the urge to pace incessantly. The inquiry had insisted on seeing them separately. They had finished with him in a bit over two hours.

The process had been frightening and disorientating. He had stood in the center of the hall. The questions had come from all sides, with the representatives talking over each other. He had scrambled to answer, as they changed subjects without warning.

Though it had been exhausting, they had asked him nothing he had not expected. Well, almost nothing. The questions about Bloody Wednesday, his exile, and his return he had expected. He had not expected them to grill him on his courtship of and marriage to Miranda, whirlwind affair though it had been.

The only thing that had bothered Aron was when one delegate, with a wry twist to his mouth asked him why he wanted anything to do with Miranda now. He suspected his answer, that he loved her, had not been sufficient.

At any rate, the sun had still been low in the morning when they let him go and called Miranda. He is still waiting for them to finish with her. It was after midnight now, and they have not called so much as a recess.

What are they asking her? What could possibly take all this time?

He gives up on standing still and starts pacing again.

* * *

Miranda strides from the hall, looking noticably pale. Without slowing down, she loops her arm through Aron's and draws him with her. "Let's get to our rooms." She say, pitched low.

When they pass through the door, Miranda shuts it behind her and abruptly slumps against it, sliding to the floor with her head in her hands.

He stands and watches her for a moment, and then sinks to his knees reaching towards her with a tentative hand. "Was it bad?"

"I think," she says dryly, "I'm going to sick up."

He digs in his pockets for a packet of herbs. "Here." He tells her gently. He has been carrying these almost all the time. His own stomach does not suit him since his dematerialization.

She takes the herbs and chews them, but they do her no good. Moments later she is bent over a basin, dry retching. He holds back her hair, and whispers what he hopes are comforting things to her.

She sits up and takes a handkerchief from her pocket to wipe her mouth. "I'm done." She says steadily.

"We should get a healer." He suggests.

"No," she answers sternly. "I know why this happened."

"Ok." He says. He helps her up and to the bed, as he gently embraces her.

"You think otherwise?" She queries softly.

"You've had enough decisions made for you." He feels her jerk slightly in his arms. "I hurt you didn't I? Your ribs?

"Yes." Her musical voice says, "But I hurt worse when you won't touch me at all."

* * *

Some time later. "What did they ask you?"

"Everything." She answers low. "About us, about the politics, about Thantos' … treatment of me."

"I sorry you had to relive it."

Miranda pulls back sharply, "It wasn't that." She says resolutely. "Somehow, I know," She frowns and bites her lip lightly, "That I could do that again if I had to."

Startled he reaches towards her, "No you won't have to…I'll never let…"

"I know." She says intensely, "But when I didn't have a choice, I could get through it. Because it was that important."

"Then what was it that?"

She rolls a corner of the blanket between her fingers. "Everyone knew. I know they must have. But they pretended they did not see anything. They looked away because they could not help me, and it was better. It left me at least a little dignity. Now, they are talking about it, and I cannot stand it. They look at me, and I know they are remembering things better left forgotten."

"They'll forget about it." He says.

"The record will be open." Miranda retorts angrily, "Any one can go to the archives and read all they can stand to about me, every second of it if they care to. They will never remember anything else."

"They'll remember you as a hero."

"They'll remember me as his victim!" She shouts. She presses her lips tightly together. "I don't want my name tied to his." She says more calmly. "Not ever."

She looks fundamentally sick of all of it. He supposes he understands. This stubborn insistence reminds him of the spirited woman he married, those several decades ago. Trying to comfort her will be out of place here, so he tries practicality.

"If the records are open…" He suggests carefully. "You'd better tell the girls."

"No," she says shaking her head.

"They need to trust you."

"I will not." She breathes fast.

"Alex will…" He attempts.

"I can't." She looks hunted.

He speaks carefully, "You know what will happen when they find out."

"There are some things... I cannot talk about. The inquiry forced me to today, and it, it was... Saying these things aloud… it makes them real. Let them read the transcripts for themselves if they are that curious. "

"You should at least tell some of it." He says, leaning towards her a little and locking eyes with her. "Miranda, what if someone else tells them, and they hear you kept this from them? Think about it."

She turns a bit pale at this and looks at him appraisingly for a moment. Just when he is about to ask what is wrong she nods. "Alright." She says in a shaky voice, "I'll think about it."

"Does it hurt you that I know?" He asks casually. "Like the delegates."

"You, you're different." She says. "I can break down in front of you. I don't know why, but somehow you still… still care about me." Her voice breaks.

"I love you." He caresses her hair.

"I don't bloody deserve you." She whispers in response.


	10. Innocence

Summary: Movieverse, post twitches II, Aron/Miranda, angst, continuation.

Disclaimer: I do not own this. If I did, it would not be a kid's movie. This is not a kid's story. I have not read the books and do not intend to because I like messing with the movie characters. The books may well be better than the movies, but since it's the movies' faults and inaccuracies that inspire my subplots… being too correct would destroy my material.

For once, Aron awakes before Miranda. She must completely be exhausted, because even the sunlight rays across her face do not alert her to the presence of crimson-streaked morning.

He wishes she would look peaceful or safe, but the slight scowl on her face contorts and disturbs her beauty. He wonders if she is hurt again, and curses himself that he cannot even tell if his wife is asleep or passed out.

It is time to wake her. He puts a soft hand on her shoulder and pulls back on it slightly. Even then, she merely rolls onto her back with a tiny painful sound.

Aron dares not shake Miranda awake, for he does not even know how she has been enduring his frequent hugs and embraces. No matter how close to healed she is, this should be aggravating it. The only explanation he can ascertain is that his injured wife has told the truth. The emotional pain of her years of isolation outweighs the physical pain of her family's touch.

"Feel better Miranda." He whispers hoarsely, kissing her hand, "Get well."

Suddenly she cries out, and jerks as if shocked. Her eyes snap open and she coughs rapidly and shortly. Turning away from him, she grips the mattress and struggles for breath.

"You love," she gasps, "Have all the finesse of a dragon in a ballroom."

"What?" he asks, "Are you alright?"

"Of course not," she gasps, clutching her throat as if chocking, "You fool."

"What happened?" He calls.

She tries to get to the door, but staggers as if drunk and ends up holding onto the bedpost in another fit of coughs. "You healed me." She manages in a grating voice, "And you did it all wrong. Get Este! With discretion!"

A few extremely harrying moments later, he half drags half pushes Este into the room. The graying healer takes one look at Miranda and slaps Aron forcefully across the face.

"Child, fool, idiot!" Este snaps, striking him again. "There's a reason we let these heal out! You've hurt her worse than leaving it would have."

"I didn't mean to," he stammers terrified, for Miranda. "I just wanted her to get well."

Este glares at him contemptuously "How old are you, your majesty? Six? This is a child's mistake!" She snaps.

His wife is still breathing loudly and dryly, and looks near to suffocating. Este grabs her shoulders roughly, "Brace!" she barks, and Miranda only has time to seize a handful of the bedspread before a sharp light flashes.

Though for a moment she convulses and shrieks, mere seconds later, Miranda's breathing approaches normal again, "I'm fine." She says, as aloofly as is possible.

"You came blasted near death." Este retorts, shoving her away derisively, "If your imbecile husband's healing had been a shred worse it would have killed you on contact."

"But it wasn't."

"Well, those ribs are set, if not properly. The parts he healed are curved incorrectly. You will never be a long distance runner or have much stamina for battle with a chest structured like that. Unless you break them again they'll…"

"Leave it" Miranda interrupts and waves a dismissive hand, "It'll do."

"No chance that the room was sound-spelled is there?" Este muttered derisively shifting lightly on the balls of her feet.

"Of course it is." Miranda says casually "I've been sound-spelling the rooms I sleep in for decades now.

Este shrugged, "Bloody dangerous. Someday you will scream and now one will hear, mark me, but at least we won't have to explain this to the bloody council."

"No one's run towards my screams for years Este," Miranda snapped bitterly, "But I didn't imagine they wanted to listen to them either."

"Drink this." Este interrupts, proffering a vile with a grimace.

"No painkillers Este." Miranda refuses, pushing it away. "Nothing that strong."

"You haven't been taking them?" Este asks sharply, turning Miranda's chin to get a good look at her face, "I left them for you as soon as I guessed that... They were always gone when I checked… I assumed you were…How else could you…?"

Miranda shakes her head. "Only on the nights when it got… unusually bad. They wreck havoc on my reflexes."

Este shrugs, "Suit yourself." She tells Miranda. Turning to Aron, she adds condescendingly, "See if you can go a day without making it worse." Este walks out of the room.

Miranda does not move from where she lies sprawled across the bed. He crosses to her, but does not touch her.

"I'm sorry." He tells her, humiliated and repentant.

"You fool." She answers sternly. Then she takes his hand and tenderly kisses his ring. "You sweet, innocent, fool."

She turns herself on the bed and straightens her nightdress, keeping a hold of his hand and caressing the back of it, "You're so worried about hurting me. Can't you can't see I'm hurting you?"

Despite his wife's words, her mood seems light. Miranda closes her eyes and rests her head upon the pillow, with a slight smile on her face.

"What are you thinking, love?" Aron asks.

"About our wedding night," His wife answers nostalgically.

"You were very innocent," He sweetly whispers, lightly kissing her forehead.

"So were you," Miranda gravely replies. She raises her shoulders, and quickly brushes her lips across his. "And you at least still are."

Abruptly she stands, strides to the wardrobe, and with a sharp gesture in the air flings it open.

"Is there anything here that might pass for standard attire in the girls' world?" She calls over her shoulder, shifting the dresses.

"As in not on Halloween? I doubt it." He answers with a slight smile. She shows him a dress. "Plainer than that."

She pulls a black skirt and white blouse from the armoire and derisively throws them on, "Best I can do." She mutters grudgingly with an exasperated glance at the mirror.

"Am I coming with you?" He wonders aloud.

"If you can get ready in the next five minutes." She replies, "I'm going to tell the girls," She starts harshly brushing her hair, "Before I lose my nerve."

"Are you sure?" He asks her as he dresses.

"No," she responds "Absolutely not. But I can't hedge forever. Ileana and Karsh are getting married in one week, and I refuse to have this looming over me then." She stares at him and he sees wavering. "I want to get this over with."

Hesitantly, Miranda locks eyes with him and crosses the room to stand in front of him. Heartache, and something else, show in her eyes as she runs a hand through his hair, drawing him down for a kiss. It is unexpected and disconcerting and feels… amazing. The combination of sheer intensity and gentleness overwhelms him. Until, that is, she pulls back and turns away, looking at the ground.

"Let's go," she mutters.


	11. Shaking

Summary: Movieverse, post twitches II, Aron/Miranda, angst, continuation.

Disclaimer: I do not own this. If I did, it would not be a kid's movie. This is not a kid's story. I have not read the books and do not intend to because I like messing with the movie characters. The books may well be better than the movies, but since it is the movies' faults and inaccuracies that inspire my subplots… being too correct would destroy my material.

* * *

Miranda's ability to appear serene, though he knew she must be at her breaking point, has always impressed Aron, although never more so than today. Completely out of her element, unfamiliar with her clothes, out of place in this dimension, and emotional fraught, she looks, at worst, a little nervous. A copy of those hateful transcripts from the inquiry is tucked under her slim arm.

However, as Miranda waves her hand to dissolve the portal, he realizes her hand is shaking. "How are you doing love?" He whispers.

"Fine," she answers between her teeth. Is she smiling or wincing? Is there even a difference with her anymore?

* * *

"The girls aren't here now" Mrs. Barnes tells them, a little apprehensively, "They're shopping. Do you want us to call them back?"

"No, we can wait for them," Miranda answers. "It's nothing urgent. I… I just wanted to tell them something."

They sit at the table by the pool, with the documents sitting between them on the white plastic. Miranda is not saying anything, or even looking at him. Mostly to have something to do, he picks up the briefs and starts flipping through them.

Miranda glances at him, frowning, for a moment, and then waves her hand to summon a piece of parchment and a pen. "Do you mind if I draw?" She asks casually.

He smiles, "Of course not."

Scanning the pages involves a cold interplay of morbid curiosity and horror. A few pages in, after feeling bile rise in his throat, Aron stops actually trying to read. Focusing his eyes somewhere in the margins of the page, he watches Miranda out of his peripheral vision.

She always wears a look of immense concentration when she draws, he generalizes, though he has not seen her sketching in nearly forever. Her features soften as she stares at the paper, though, lovingly making minor corrections. He wishes she would look at him like that.

When she has finished, she pushes the paper towards him, wordlessly, nonchalantly looking at the pool and fidgeting with the pen.

The man in the picture looks out, his face protective and benevolent. Though the portrait is handsome and well formed, Aron barely notices. He is too amazed at how she has captured her subject's eyes. They pull at Aron's soul because he can see both pain and deep love in them.

"Miranda," He whispers, "Is this supposed to be me?"

She swallows slightly, "Yes," she answers tentatively, "Is it alright?"

"It's beautiful." He breathes.

"Mom! Dad!" The girls have arrived. Self consciously, Aron hides the portrait under the table.

"Hi!" Cameron squeals throwing her arms around his shoulders for a moment. Alex, more restrained pats his shoulder as she moves to sit.

"Ok?" Cam asks, grinning at Miranda, "What's up?"

Alex smiles as well "And, what's the hurry?" She blushes a little, "Cameron was helping me pick out some new shoes."

"Yeah," Cameron adds, "They're…" She gets a good look at Miranda's face "Oh my goodness is something wrong."

Miranda bites her lip and says nothing.

"Oh no." Cam says shakily, "Is Thantos alive?"

"No." Miranda answers chillingly, "Thantos is dead. Dead!"

The girls flinch at Miranda's tone. Aron takes his wife's hand under the table and clasps it gently.

"Then what?" Alex asks.

Miranda takes a deep breath, "I… I have to tell you something. It is not right that I have not told you. You should know that… When I… When Thantos was…," she stammers. "Read these."

It seems like hours, though must be barely minutes that the girls take to complete the first few paragraphs, technical language aside. They react differently.

Cam only glances at the pages once or twice before she gasps, runs around the table to where Miranda is seated, throws her arm around her, and starts to cry. Miranda holds her daughter and tries, unsuccessfully, to comfort her. "It's okay." She whispers cradling her. "Shh," though she has begun to sob too.

Alex, conversely, stares at the pages for a long time her eyes growing ever darker and more murderous. She turns pages intensely. "Well," She says finally pushing the documents away, "That explains a lot."

Miranda looks back at her vulnerably and Aron realizes, to his horror, that this daughter of his could crush his wife's spirit with a word.

"When I was in junior high, I started writing some really dark stuff," Alex adds by way of explanation, "My… my mom thought I was suicidal. She made me see a therapist and for the life of me, I couldn't figure out where it came from… because I felt fine…. But you didn't, did you?"

"I'm sorry." Miranda whispers, her eyes wide.

"Why?" Alex replied, "That," she continues passionately glaring at the papers, "Was absolutely not your fault."

"I just…" Miranda begins.

"Did what you had to do." Alex finishes softly, blinking back tears. "You saved Coventry by marrying him, do you know that?"

Cameron looks up, her eyes wide, recognizing the certainty in her sister's tone.

"I… I guessed" Miranda stutters.

"Don't let him win now. Hold your head up," tears start to leak from the corners of Alex's eyes, "You have nothing to be ashamed about." Her words choke off in a sob. "I love you, Mom."

Then, his other daughter too crosses the table and embraces Miranda. Aron watches as his wife closes her eyes and clutches her girls to her. The girls cry, but Miranda's breathing slowly steadies. She looks, in some strange measure, content.

Finally, Miranda releases her daughters "Thank you." She whispers to them.

The girls nod.

"I'll see you tomorrow," Miranda tells them gently, "At Ileana and Karsh's rehearsal dinner." She puts on a brave face for them, "With your beautiful smiles, OK?"

* * *

As they pass through the portal and make their way back to the castle, Aron asks, "Miranda, are you hurt?"

"No." she answers. "You healed me, remember?"

"But you're shaking… still even now. I… I know you were scared but…"

Miranda raises her eyebrows and says with concern. "I'm not shaking love… you are."

* * *

Author's Note: While I have people's attention, let me shamelessly point out my other fanfic in this fandom, "A year and a day." It is a one-shot featuring Miranda and Thantos Du Baer after Aron's supposed death, and it is compatible with this story.


	12. Judgment

Summary: Movieverse, post twitches II, Aron/Miranda, angst, continuation.

Disclaimer: I do not own this. If I did, it would not be a kid's movie. This is not a kid's story. I have not read the books and do not intend to because I like messing with the movie characters. The books may well be better than the movies, but since it's the movies' faults and inaccuracies that inspire my subplots… being too correct would destroy my material.

* * *

"Here," she says quickly, back in their rooms, "Lie down." She lets go of his arm and hurries to rummage in a cabinet.

Suddenly lightheaded, Aron sways for a few steps and then literarily falls into bed. However, he misjudges the distance and hits the wooden floor instead, clipping his forehead on the bedpost as he falls.

Miranda gasps and drops whatever she is holding. The delicate vials shatter on the floor. Immediately, she runs to him and, cradling his injured head, lifts him into bed.

"I'm a fool," She mutters angrily, "I should have thought of this, days ago."

"Thought of what?" he manages, although feeling tempted to simply allow himself to pass out. The dizziness is nearly unbearable, approaching pain by sheer intensity. The room spins.

"The transmutation's caught up with you. You'll be fine, but you need medicine now." She gestures sharply to open the cabinets and again forcing a bottle of something to fly to her hand, "Drink this." She orders and she eases the bottle to his lips, tilting his head back to assist him.

As the cold liquid slides down his throat, Aron feels the world lurch and dissolve into fragments of gold and red. The last things he sees are the strange patterns of light, reflecting off Miranda's beautiful hair.

* * *

"Ugh" He groans as he slowly comes to himself. Everything aches.

Miranda bends over him, lying next to him on the bed, "There you go my love," she whispers, gently caressing his face, "You're back."

He manages a question. "Where am I?"

"You're in our bed," She whispers, "You passed out."

Oh, of course, he knows that. "What… what time is it?"

"It is a few hours past midday." She clarifies. "You need medicine." She tilts his head back, so he can swallow another vial of the strange and bitter liquid.

"The… the council…"

"They don't know." Miranda says and he finds he cannot read her eyes. "I brought Este here in secret. She says you need to drink the medicine every hour. You'll start feeling better by sundown."

"I'll have to… tomorrow I must…" he mutters.

"You'll even be on your feet for the dinner tomorrow." Miranda says affectionately "Good as new in fact. The medicine for this works near miracles." She lightly kisses his forehead, "Sleep now, my love." The world starts to darken again, "Sleep now."

* * *

He comes awake to the sounds of loud voices.

"He cannot, Councilman Angellum" He hears Miranda say wearily, "Perhaps later tonight but… not now… please."

The old man in formal robes shakes his head dourly, "I am required to deliver the decision of the inquiry now, not later this evening." Aron notices several other people standing behind him, similarly robed, and recognizes a few as the other council members.

"But must he stand?" Miranda implores.

Councilman Angellum looks confused, "That is…err… how things are done."

"I know…. But… surely… the law does not require him to stand."

"Only procedure," one of the other councilmen cuts in, "Can't you see he's ill? Get on with it, Bartram, or I will."

"Fine," the politician mutters angrily. Adopting a formal tone, he addresses "Aron Du Baer, you stand…err… lie… accused of manslaughter of Thantos Du Baer." He pauses…. "The inquiry has cleared you of any wrongdoing in the death of your brother, Thantos Du Baer. Do you understand me?"

"Yes councilman Angellum," Aron manages to croak.

Angellum nods and turns to Miranda "Miranda Du Baer, I assume you, at least, will stand to receive judgment."

She nods and smoothly rises.

"Miranda Du Baer, you stand accused of treason, bigamy, adultery against Aron Du Baer, attempted murder, unconstitutional acts, theft of powers, and conspiracy." Angellum reads from a paper.

"They have no authority over you," Aron hears someone interrupt. He is shocked to see Adelais, standing in a corner but realizes she must have already been present when the council entered the room.

"Be quiet, Adelais," Miranda scolds between her teeth.

"They don't." The novice healer reiterates steadfastly.

"The act that removed that authority is unconstitutional and illegal. It was enacted by a monarch acting in bad faith and ruling unlawfully." Miranda states formally and sternly. "I won't hide behind one of Thanto's laws. If there is any confusion on the matter, I hereby reinstate the judicial power of the council over me."

The chamber erupts in whispers. "These are capital offences, Your Grace." Adelais interjects in distress.

"I know." Miranda answers with resolve, "And should the council deem me guilty of any of them, I will submit to whatever punishment they consider fit."

Aron gasps in horror, as the full implication of the inquiry occurs to him. There had never been any doubt that he would be acquitted, after all no one doubted that Thantos had been trying to kill him, but Miranda's case was far less certain. He had not realized, though he certainly should have know how serious the case was, that Miranda could die for this. Aron understands now that the entire inquiry was her trial, not his.

The councilman takes a deep breath, "Miranda Du Baer, we find that you were legally unable to consent to your marriage with Thantos Du Baer by reasons of coercion and ignorance. We therefore find that marriage illegal and void. We rule, therefore, that your marriage with King Aron Du Baer never lapsed."

Miranda nods, her eyes sharp and intelligent as she scans the council's faces. Aron can only swallow nervously.

"We further find during the reign of the usurper Thantos Du Baer, your status was that of a prisoner of war. We find that you were kept in fear for the safety of your kingdom and of violence to yourself and that that your participation in the political acts of said Thantos Du Baer was under compulsion and involuntary."

Miranda draws a slow breath and nods again.

"We further find that you were unaware of the full extent of the treason employed by Thantos Du Baer, and that where you could you sought to protect and save this country."

"We further," The Councilman Angellum cuts off for a moment and swallows, biting his lip. "We further find" He goes on hoarsely, "We… we find that you never consented to any sexual act with the late Thantos Du Baer, except under extreme coercion and fear for your life and…and the lives of others, and that his actions towards your person amounted to… amounted to rape and torture."

Miranda's eyes go wide, but she manages a nod.

"We therefore clear you of all wrongdoing regarding the abovementioned charges."

Aron can breathe again.

"Finally, we commend you for your heroism during that desperate time. We recognize that you… that you did not seek help because you believed it would endanger the lives of others or the safety of Coventry. We further recognize that you oftentimes took considerable pain upon yourself, rather than see it inflicted upon others. We… we do not believe we would be standing here today, had you acted otherwise. You have our gratitude, Your Grace."

"Thank you" Miranda replies formally, and Aron can hear shock in her voice.

Councilman Angellum puts the paper down and says softly, "May I say something additional, your Grace?"

"Of course," She replies.

"I… I would like to apologize. We… we all knew what he was doing to you… and we as good as gave him permission to do it. We should have stopped him. I am… so… so sorry."

"Well you were afraid of what he would do if you tried." She says softly, sounding almost confused, "We all were. The defenses were the most important thing I understand that."

The other council members, some looking annoyed, some abashed, sheepishly make their way to the door.

Councilman Angellum looks over his shoulder as he passes through the doorway "If there's anything I can do, Your Grace…?"

"Forget it ever happened, councilman." She answers.


	13. Like Dancing

Summary: Movieverse, post twitches II, Aron/Miranda, angst, continuation.

Disclaimer: I do not own this. If I did, it would not be a kid's movie. This is not a kid's story. I have not read the books and do not intend to because I like messing with the movie characters. The books may well be better than the movies, but since it is the movies' faults and inaccuracies that inspire my subplots… being too correct would destroy my material.

* * *

That medicine really does work miracles, Aron thinks to himself. A mere day from his collapse a he feels far healthier that he has, literally in decades. And hungrier… a lot hungrier. Waiting for the rehearsal to end was like torture.

So now, he is standing and waiting for the dinner to begin, feeling a bit like an impatient child, trying to have an intelligent, if one-sided conversation with what appears to be a donkey.

Then Miranda enters the hall, and all conversation stops. People turn to look at her, or deliberately do not look at her at all. A few smile at her, as if to put her at ease. Aron finds himself wondering how the rehearsal dinner of a small wedding came to have this many politicians attending anyhow. The entire affair was practically a ball, in and of itself. Aron suspected many of the politicians had not precisely been invited.

If Miranda is disturbed by her less-than-cheerful welcoming, she gives no sign of it. Inclining her head as if the room had gone silent out of respect instead of to gawk, she smiles at the twins from across the room and walks over to stand with him.

"Everyone's staring at me" Miranda whispers to him, a little self-consciously.

"Well, you do look stunning in that dress." He says helpfully, if not particularly originally.

Miranda's eyes light up at his complement. Casually, she shrugs, "Well, I suppose with everyone seen talking to me being swallowed by the darkness for 21 years, my friendships aren't exactly current."

"I… I guess not. I only really know Ileana, Karsh, and the girls."

Suddenly, Miranda grins broadly, "Would you like to go through this the way we used to at court functions?"

"Split up, be charming to as many people as we can in one hour, eat dinner, then dance the night away together?" He clarifies.

"It's a small group. I expect we can talk through them in half the time without anyone feeling slighted." Miranda replies still smiling, "But something like that."

"Can we start with dinner?" He asks, gesturing to a buffet of what appears to be chicken wings, chips and salsa, and various other appetizers.

"Are you that hungry?" she asks with raised eyebrows, still grinning.

"Famished" he answers sincerely

She laughs, "I'll keep them busy for you, go eat."

* * *

When they have both finished eating and socialized as much as he can stand Aron gestures to the dance floor. "Would you like to dance," he asks softly.

"I'd love to," Miranda answers, "But I'm not sure I know how to dance to this." Aron realizes that the dance, a slow song from the girls' dimension, is not one he knows either.

"Um… maybe we can figure it out." He says, fumbling, trying to imitate Ileana and Karsh, who are making the dance look easy.

Cam spots them, smiles and rushes over to help them. "Here," she says confidently, "Dad, put your hands on her waist."

"And mom, put your hands on dad's shoulders." Alex finishes helpfully, "Just sort of hug and sway."

"Thanks girls," Aron says. He notices that he and Miranda are standing closer than any other couple seem to be, but decides he does not care.

In fact, he pulls Miranda closer still and prepares to dance the night away. "I love you," he whispers, just to see her smile again.

* * *

"You're still a divine dancer" Miranda comments, later in their rooms.

"So are you," he responds in a deep voice.

Miranda hesitates for a moment and then, to his shock, starts to unbutton his shirt. "You look good." She says shyly.

"I…" Aron answers incoherently as the room becomes all too warm.

"Let's go to bed," she whispers seductively.

He stares at her, agape, sure that he must have misunderstood her.

"Yes, I mean it like that…" she says, a little timidly, "Don't you want to?"

"Of course I do…" He says hurriedly. "It's just… are you…"

By way of an answer, she kisses him. "I'm sure."

He looks deeply into her eyes, "If you want to stop…."

"I wont." She interrupts.

"What changed?" he asks softly.

"I … I'm not going to die." She whispers.

"What?" he breathes.

"I'm not going to die. The inquiry acquitted me when I was expecting…" she trails off.

"You were expected them to have you executed?" Aron asks, shocked.

"Well…yes." She starts to talk much too fast, "Because I didn't see how they could void the bigamy charge without confirming the adultery charge, and I knew how they stand on technicalities, and Thantos changed all the laws so that adultery against a king is an automatic death sentence."

Her speed doesn't flag, "But they didn't convict me, and I'm not going to die, and we'll have maybe forty or fifty more years together, and we're going to… to grow old together, and I want to forget and just pick up where we left off and I know that to think we can is stupid and naïve and I don't care and…" The phrase chokes off in a sob.

He stops Miranda's rant by kissing her, feeling both relieved and heated when he feels her passionately return the kiss.

She takes a breath, her face nearly touching his, "And tonight I realized that I… I want you." Miranda speaks fiercely, "Thantos, may he burn forever, is not going to deny me this anymore."

Finally, she glances at him and says at a normal pace, "Why don't you take the lead because I don't really know what I'm doing." She blushes .

Aron raises an eyebrow, having expected that Miranda would want to keep as much control as she could.

"I don't mean coercion or dominance," she explains lightly, "Like dancing,"

"Like dancing," he echoes as he gently leads her to their bed. "If anything feels wrong," he tells her as he pulls back the coverlet "Stop me."

Miranda nods gravely, and then settles herself against the pillows.

"Are you comfortable?" He asks affectionately resting on his side next to her, and, at her encouraging nod, leans over to kiss her.

"We are going to live." Aron says when they break for air.

Another kiss, longer, deeper this time, "We are going to grow old together."

"And I am going to love you," He gasps as Miranda pulls him back down and tangles her fingers into his hair.

"Forever." Their mouths muffle that last word

Then, she's crying, and he's crying, and he feels good, and he hurts, and it's sweet, and it's bitter, and he can't process the infinite complications of what he's doing, and he's overwhelmed in its simplicity.

Aron pulls back "Too much?" he gasps.

"Not enough" she counters breathily.

He kisses the tears from Miranda's eyes, kisses the corners of her mouth and the stern line of her jaw.

She finishes unbuttoning his shirt and helps him out of it, tossing it to the foot of the bed.

Aron lightly brushes her neck with his lips, trying to find the place where he knew, 21 years ago at least, she had liked to be touched.

Her amulet chain is in the way. Aron finds the clasp to remove it and, inexplicably, she tenses.

Though Miranda does not attempt to stop him, her expression worries him.

Then he understands. When she uses the amulet, they are, magically at least, evenly matched. Without the charm, Miranda will be weaker than him, in enchantment and physical strength both, powerless by comparison.

Aron won't ask that of her. He moves his hand away.

Suddenly, Miranda, in a sharp gesture tears the amulet from her neck, snapping the delicate chain in the process. She throws the talisman away from her with such anger that he fears she's damaged it.

Miranda's eyes search his, daring him to challenge her action. Aron says nothing, though his eyes are drawn to her chest, rising and falling rapidly.

"I trust you," she declares.

As Miranda snaps her fingers to dim the lights and pulls him on top of her, Aron feels shaming tears come to his eyes again.

"I trust no one but you."


	14. Bridal

Summary: Movieverse, post twitches II, Aron/Miranda, angst, continuation.

Disclaimer: I do not own this. If I did, it would not be a kid's movie. This is not a kid's story. I have not read the books and do not intend to because I like messing with the movie characters. The books may well be better than the movies, but since it is the movies' faults and inaccuracies that inspire my subplots… being too correct would destroy my material.

* * *

"You look just like a bride." Aron whispers, standing over her shoulder.

"What?" Miranda asks, jumping a little.

"You're dressed as a bride." He repeats, gesturing to her attire. The effect of the cream-colored dress, with its light colors and the diaphanous train, is distinctly bridal and reminds him of the dress Miranda wore to her own wedding. His wife, he reflected, probably looked more more like the bride than Ileana did. Though he enjoyed their vivacious friend's presence, her taste in clothing would not have been his.

"Oh," Miranda deadpans, looking away. "I didn't have time to order a new dress." She seemed unaware of how beautiful she was.

"You didn't wear that with… him…" He stutters, his stomach turning at the thought of his treacherous brother.

"What?" She asks, sounding offended. Then, she shakes her head. "No. I just choose something random for that. It wasn't white."

As she speaks the last word, she begins to walk to their appointed place. Her steps swing lightly, as they prepare to officiate the wedding, a confidence born of years in the public eye. Officiating a wedding is easy for Miranda.

* * *

Aron is almost in a daze as he speaks the words to the ceremony, caught in a wave of nostalgia. He remembers his own wedding, and the pure joy he felt seeing Miranda standing across from him, looking as beautiful as the sun that rose behind her. They'd both been so young, and the memory was an old one, but the mere thought brought a wistful smile to the monarch's face.

Aron had been something of an awkward teenager, uncertain of his own limbs and words. His earliest memory had been hearing his father tell his mother that he wished Thantos had been born first. That sentiment had been all too common in his early years. As a young child, Aron had lacked in the decisiveness, the sense of adventure that his patriarch had determined to be worthy of a king.

True, Aron's father had never understood the sense of quiet responsibility that his older son had possessed, preferring Thantos' louder charisma. Aron had become accustomed to the discrepancy, knowing that only the accident of biology put him first in line for the throne. In his weaker moments, he had even considered abdicating.

If his father had never understood Aron, women were even worse. Thantos had a way of charming every young lady who crossed his path. However, Thantos had no problem using them as well. Aron had known that he would be expected to make a political marriage, and felt uncomfortable leading women on. Their father made no secret of his contempt for his scruples. Aron never did find out what his mother thought. The queen had died when he was only seven years of age.

Then, Miranda came along, beautiful, vivacious, and completely charming. Aron had been smitten from the first glance across the bustling ballroom. The shock had been her reaction to him.

Knowing only about her semi-legendary powers, Aron had expected Miranda to be more taken with Thantos. That she preferred Aron, even to the point of ignoring or slighting his brother, had come as a complete shock.

Aron had wanted children and a happy family or as long as he could remember. His dreams formed a stark contrast to his childhood reality, which had been anything but happy. However, Aron was a realist. He had never expected his marriage to be a love match.

The surprise had been the best thing imaginable. It had given him the confidence to step from his brother's shadow, to begin to rule in his own right. A few months later, it had been Miranda's confidence and poise that had saved his authority upon the violent death of his father. On some level, Aron knows that Miranda's choice of a husband had given him the courage to accept the throne.

His wedding had been the second happiest moment of his life, just behind the day when Miranda had told him she was carrying his children.

And so, Aron loves weddings.

* * *

The party is breaking up, and he circulates lazily, making goodbyes and shaking hands. He can hear laughter from the garden, where his daughters have initiated some sort of game.

The evening has gone reasonably well. Aron does not think any of the politicians, who watched every moment of the masque, eager to see a mistake, had anything to work with. The happiness in the palace that day is so prevalent as to be almost oppressive.

More importantly, his daughters seem happy. Cameron has fallen easily into her role as the royal socialite, charming friend and potential enemy alike with an easy charm that has Aron wondering if even she knows how she is doing it.

Alex is far more quiet, reserved, and controlled. However, she is smiling, a little upward turn at the corner of her mouth, a surge of joy that cannot be helped.

It does Aron's heart good to see his family happy and relaxing. Especially Miranda.

However, it is late and they are all tired. Therefore, he is looking around for his wife.

Miranda is standing at the edge of the garden, watching the last of the guests with a pensive look across her features.

"Why so quiet?" Aron asks her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.

"It's just…" She says hesitantly. "You know… weddings."

Aron feels confused "What about weddings?"

"I don't know." She muses. "They just… they make me nervous." His wife smiles as if to diffuse her statement.

She looks nervous too, Aron notices. Miranda's face is pale, and her smile, so reassuring to him earlier that day, looks painted on, gilded and somehow off.

"You could try to remember ours," He suggests with a warm smile, a flicker of the pride from earlier in the day reasserting himself.

"I was frightened for ours…" Miranda says. "Weren't you?"

His chest constricts. Aron hadn't been nervous, self-conscious, or afraid on his wedding day. He had been elated.


	15. Yellow, My Father, The Waltz

Summary: Movieverse, post twitches II, Aron/Miranda, angst, continuation.

Disclaimer: I do not own this. If I did, it would not be a kid's movie. This is not a kid's story. I have not read the books and do not intend to because I like messing with the movie characters. The books may well be better than the movies, but since it is the movies' faults and inaccuracies that inspire my subplots… being too correct would destroy my material.

* * *

"Miranda, I want to talk to you." He leads her towards a bench, under bright white cherry blossoms. The fiery sunset casts a red inferno across the pure petals.

She sees his face. "Aron, what's wrong. Are you alright?" It breaks his heart, as always, that her mind always jumps to distaster. Then again, his heart is shattered into so many pieces that he can't say another few cracks make a difference any more.

Shaking his head, Aron returns to his wife's question. His knees hurt and his head spins, but these things are not relevant. "I'm fine Miranda." That's not entirely true

Miranda breaths a hasty sigh of relief, placing a hand on his shoulder. He hates himself for putting his love through even this moment of distress, but he needs to know.

"It's just… what did you mean when you said you were afraid for our wedding?" Aron questions, dreading the answer. He had never meant to be a source of her fear.

"Well I…" Miranda spread her hands in a gesture of confusion. "Really, Aron what did you expect, I'd known you for a week." She acts as though this isn't tearing his heart open.

"I…" The monarch stuttered, trying to explain his feelings. However, he can't seem to word what he barely understands himself.

"Oh…" Miranda realized. "Love at first sight. I understand." She looks down at the ground, awkwardly, as though unsettled by the revelation.

This evening is just getting worse. Aron would give anything to go back and forget about this entire conversation.

"Aron, love." She puts her hand on his shoulder and leans forward towards him. "These things take time."

"Not for me…" Aron mutters. This was probably why his father had expected a king to be hard and cold. Naivette had always been Aron's problem. He trusted everyone, believed everything.

"Look." Miranda begins, getting angry now. "I'd seen you three times. You did not propose. My sister shook me awake and said 'wake up; it's your wedding day.' I had to get up and ask her who the groom was."

His mouth drops open, "Miranda, I didn't know." He really wants to throttle that sister of hers and his father for good measure, and that's quite the achievement because he never thinks that way about his father. His father, even from the grave, demanded respect.

"What did you think would happen when you had your father approach my sister?" His wife prompts, as if talking to a child.

It had been the proper thing to do. He remembered after the winter festival, when his angry father had explained to him what a mistake his gift of a star had been. Proper women did not accept gifts from random men, even princes, at balls. That had left Aron determined to follow the proper forms, especially in his proposal. He would have hated to have Miranda think he was insulting her honor by asking himself.

"I thought your sister would get your answer." He tries to explain. "I didn't want to put pressure on you."

"You were afraid I'd say no!" She snaps, turning her hips away angrily.

"…" It hits him… "You never said yes?" The room spins and his stomach turns. He has basically forced his wife to marry him, without even realizing it. For all his good intentions, he's no better than his brother.

"I could have refused…" She considers. "Technically. Honestly I was just glad that it wasn't your brother. He terrified me." She snorted, "And people think I'm a bad judge of character. I should have trusted my first instincts, and avoided that snake at all costs."

Aron grins at that. He can't help the sudden delight, despite his distress. He thinks to himself that his sibling and he were entirely too competitive, if he's getting shortsighted now over something like that.

Miranda smirks. "Are you starting to see why I was nervous now?" She demands, and maybe he can, if only theoretically grasp her point.

Aron bites his lip for a moment. "Did you like me?"

Her eyes sparkle, and she gestures widely. "You were like a dream. Charming and handsome. I thought you were" Light glints off her teeth, "Incredibly attractive." She leans in and pecks him on the lips.

"But you weren't in love with me…" He concludes miserably, his heart sinking.

"I didn't know anything about you." Miranda explains vainly, throwing her hands up in exasperation.

A horrible realization comes to him. "Do you know anything about me now?"

Miranda looks up at him, perhaps searching for a displomatic answer.

"Do you know my favorite color? My childhood hero? My favorite dance even?"

"I… I want to."

He blinks back tears, "Do you know anything about me at all?"

"I know you're a good man." Miranda answers fervently.

He stands up and walks away. "Yellow, my father, the waltz." He calls over his shoulder. "If you really want to know."


	16. Arrest Him

Summary: Movieverse, post twitches II, Aron/Miranda, angst, continuation.

Disclaimer: I do not own this. If I did, it would not be a kid's movie. This is not a kid's story. I have not read the books and do not intend to because I like messing with the movie characters. The books may well be better than the movies, but since it's the movies' faults and inaccuracies that inspire my subplots… being too correct would destroy my material.

* * *

"Blue, also the waltz, my sister." Miranda says, as they eat their evening meal. "Just in case _you_ wanted to know."

"Thank you…" He manages awkwardly.

"It might also interest you…" Miranda continues direly, "That my hero after my childhood was you."

Aron looks up at her and tries to find words.

"Of course," Miranda explains, playing with the chicken on her plate, "I didn't know you very well. But how well can anyone really know someone they idolize that much. I'm sure you have faults, but I'm blessed and cursed, and for the life of me I just can't see them."

She glances over at him… lips tight, face vulnerable, and he remembers what her healer told him, the night of her fever.

_If you abandon her after finally making her feel safe you will kill her outright._

"I'm sorry." Miranda said quietly. "I'm sorry that I didn't know you. I'm sorry if I led you on. I'm sorry for all of this. I'm…" she swallowed down a sob. "I'm just really sorry."

"I'm sorry." He answers, "For abandoning you. Maybe… it's possible we were both in love with our ideas of how the other one should be."

Miranda considers. "Maybe…" she concedes, "But whatever you need me to be, I can be. Just give me time. I'll learn."

"I'm not telling you to change, it's just…." Aron once again can't explain.

The servants are starting to stare.

"Miranda would you like to go for a walk?" He suggests, to get them out of the room.

She looks around slowly. "I think that's a good idea."

* * *

Once they're out of sight, he gets down on one knee. "Miranda, I am going to love you forever. Even if I don't really know you and you don't really know me. I'm going to love you forever, and nothing will ever change that."

Miranda shook her head sadly, "We're so naïve."

"I want us to know more about each other because I want to know more about the woman I love."

"You don't love me." Miranda deadpans. "You love that wide-eyed girl from the ball."

"I love you. I'd love you even if you were as dark minded as my brother." Aron begs. "Give me any task, and I'll prove it."

Miranda scans his features. "Arrest Lord Sulla."

His eyes widen. "Why?"

"You know why." She responds coldly.

"Being Thanto's friend… it's not a crime, Miranda." He stammers.

"If you love me," she orders, "Arrest him."

"Will you at least tell me the charges?" He asks.

"Arrest him." She repeats with no change in tone.

Quietly, he writes the orders and hands them to a guard to send.

"Now will you tell me what the charges are?"

Miranda stares at him through flinty eyes.

"Rape." She answers.

"Miranda…." He gasps, horror stricken.

She checks his movement with a hand on his chest.

"I wasn't the victim."


	17. About Power

Summary: Movieverse, post twitches II, Aron/Miranda, angst, continuation.

Disclaimer: I do not own this. If I did, it would not be a kid's movie. This is not a kid's story. I have not read the books and do not intend to because I like messing with the movie characters. The books may well be better than the movies, but since it's the movies' faults and inaccuracies that inspire my subplots… being too correct would destroy my material.

* * *

"Who?" He asks "Miranda, who?"

She sighs. "Este Veii." She answers.

"The healer?" he questions , dumbfounded, unable to picture the possibility.

"The same…" Miranda deadpans.

"But she's…" Aron stammers, picturing the confident imposing whirlwind that had strutted around his room as if she owned the place and completely disregarded his royal blood.

"Older." Miranda finishes for him. She shakes her head. "You should know by now that these things are about power."

Aron cannot think of a useful answer. He fails to imagine someone choosing to use power in that way. To woo a woman by enchanting stars or flowers was one thing. That was sweet and caring, if a bit corny, but to use power to compel them, hold them down… He feels sick. What kind of person wanted an unwilling woman.

"There was some sort of old grudge between them." Miranda admits. "I don't know the details." Her face darkens. "But I know I didn't stop it."

"This happened often?" He asks, taking hold of Miranda's hands, in what he hopes is a comforting manner.

She simply glares at him. "Just once," she challenges. "Is that a problem?"

"No."Aron trips over his words "Of course not…I arrested him didn't I?"

"Yes," Miranda concedes. Then she smiles a little. "Yes, you did?"

She kisses him, not aggressively, but deliberately.

His ears burn. "I … um… I'm getting confused." Did she kiss him because he had done what she wanted? Moreover, does he care if that was the reason?

Miranda swats at his shoulder playfully. "What is there to be confused about?"

"Nothing…. Everything…" Aron stammers. "I don't know!"

She smiles.

"I…. I mean I…" Aron continues to stutter, "It's not like I mind."

Light, the entire dimension shines when she is happy. "Good." She whispers and kisses him again.

* * *

Aron is sitting alone on the terrace, watching the suns set in a flood or orange and red, when she comes up behind him.

The slap makes his ears ring. "You stubborn self-rightous fool of a man!"

"Healer Este…" he manages. "I…"

"What in darkness made you think you had the right to do that." She rages. "You idiot!"

Hadn't that been Miranda? "Look, I didn't…"

"You always did lack the bloody sense to let things be…" Este growls. "Run off for two dark decades… then you come back and oh so nicely expect to find your wife and your kingdom in the same condition if it's not too much trouble…"

Aron tries to get a word in edgewise but doesn''t manage it.

"And we're all just supposed to fall into line and….":

"But Miranda…" Aron gasps.

"Miranda?" Este snaps "Was the Miranda's idea?"

"Err…" Oops, there's no right answer to this. "Yes."

Turning sharply, Este strides away "I'll give that lady a piece of my mind. She ought to know better."

That went poorly.

* * *

**A/N Ah yes it's short but I figured in honor of Halloween, I'd prove I didn't abandon this story.**


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